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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25134259">artificial lights &amp; lukewarm coffee</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainwaiter/pseuds/rainwaiter'>rainwaiter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Gas Station AU, Gay, Liberal use of Italics, M/M, Mentioned Maturin | The Turtle, Truck Driver Eddie, but what if we called each other at weird hours of the night, haunted, honestly this started all prose-like but then it turned into crack i have no power over it, i don't know how to tag, just because it's crack doesn't mean it's funny, maybe it will supprise you that i haven't proof-read this maybe it will not, past the prologue it's just entirely fluff, uhh i don't know how to type</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:46:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,701</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25134259</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainwaiter/pseuds/rainwaiter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eddie's a truck driver. He makes friends with the people at the Maturin Gas Station which, Richie assures him, is haunted. Things get gay.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>artificial lights &amp; lukewarm coffee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eddie’s mother, once, in one of her many attempts to wrestle his childhood courage back inside his body, had told him a story. All the lights were on but the house had something to it that made it feel like it was never anything but dim. Sonia had left an imprint on the recliner, like a crater on the moon, and it made her seem shorter and wider than she was as she sank into it. </p><p>The TV cried out. They were in-between soap operas, and some ad about mattresses was begging for their attention. </p><p>“And when those drivers fall asleep at night, in those parking lots, men open the trucks’ doors and slit their tendons.”</p><p>Eddie, age eight, gaped at her from his space on the carpet. She’d scold him (<em>“Think about the dust, Eddie-bear, think about your asthma!”</em>) any other time, but he was looking at her with his full attention. And for Eddie Kaspbrak, ten steps ahead of everybody, running and reeling and ranting, it was a rare occurrence. </p><p>“Because they want to steal the truck?” he’d asked, transfixed.</p><p>“Because people are <em>cruel</em>.”</p><p>Eddie stared up at his mother. Thought long and hard about how, the rare times he’d dare to tell her no, she’d go so red, her skin so tight, that he was certain she’d explode. Splattering guts and blood on the wallpaper to make him look at what she’d made him so afraid of. <em>People are cruel</em>. He was inclined to agree. </p><p>Still, he wondered, “Why don’t the drivers lock their doors, then?”</p><p>Sonia floundered. She tried to straighten a little in her seat, but the crater was deep and her posture was terrible. If anything, it made it look like she was leaning towards Eddie. </p><p><em>All the better to eat you with, my dear,</em> Eddie thought, nonsensical. </p><p>“Locks can be pried open, Eddie.”</p><p>Eddie’d never really been one for finesse. Age eighteen, when she locked him inside his room, he didn’t ‘pry’ anything open. He ran the small length of a room he’d never managed to make his own and hit the door with his shoulder. Once, twice, thrice---he fell through with the door, hitting the floor with a strangled exclamation and a cloud of dust. </p><p>Eddie scrambled to his feet as his mother tried to force her body out of bed. Lunged his whole body down the stairs. The old railing groaned as he leaned on it to jump over, paintings of still-lives staring at him. The Kaspbrak house had never felt more abandoned as it did then. The front door was locked, and so was the back one. His mother’s steps were slow but thunderous as she stumbled down the stairs. He threw a chair at a window, jumped through, and stole his mother’s car. </p><p>“You’ll get yourself killed, Edward!” she shrieked through the window as Eddie tried to start up the car. <em>Fucking piece of crap--</em> “You’re too <em>delicate--</em>”</p><p>Eddie turned on the radio, making the volume go as far as it could. <em>RUN BOY RUN</em>, the car yelled. Eddie nearly wanted to laugh. Sonia was still mouthing soul-destroying words as the car finally grumbled and coughed to life, and he sent her a two-finger salute as he peeled out of the driveway. He half-expected her to throw herself down on the tarmac to stop him. He was glad she didn’t. There was a small, honest part of him that doubted he wouldn’t have driven over her legs if he needed to. Maybe she knew. </p><p>She watched him go, big face pale, mouth opened so wide Eddie could take a peek at her vocal cords if he wanted to. Her nightgown didn’t flutter in the wind, and neither did her hair -- she’d put them in up curlers before going to sleep. This wasn’t a movie. This was real life. He rolled the window down once he was safely on the street. </p><p>“Fuck you,” he hollered. It was drowned out by the radio, but he knew what he’d said. And she did, too, because her mouth got impossibly wider, like she’d unhinged her throat around his name. Eddie grinned. </p><p>He drove and drove and drove. </p><p> </p><p>The meager money he’d managed to save got him just past the state border. He parked in one of those parking lots, the ones where drivers get their tendons torn away for a set of wheels and whatever’s in their trunk. He barely made it into the parking space. On a good day, the car took them to the grocery store and back. Without gas, she wheezed mockingly at him as he cursed and leaned with all his weight on the steering wheel to get her between half-faded lines. </p><p>The lamppost dropped an artificial light through the windscreen. He thought about all the truckers, sleeping in their metal beds, and finally dialed down the music. He thought about the people waiting for him with their knives, waiting to take running from him. He smiled at the thought. Boogeymen. This was real life. His mother had already kept running from him. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. </p><p>Eddie opened his door himself, kicking at it. He had maybe three dollars left. He should probably have kept them, in case of an emergency -- but what could three dollars do? Not magically make him appear on the other side of the country, or get him a place to live. He couldn’t even bribe a kid. So he walked across the parking lot to the gas station. </p><p>It was an old, decrepit thing. The light spilling out from it was much brighter than whatever that lamppost had been coughing up, but just as artificial. The tiles on the floor were old and white, and it made everything look a little like those movie sets that are supposed to represent the afterlife. The ground under his feet pushed back against his weight. Real life. Sprawling outside of a haunted house with a poltergeist of a mother, where Eddie would never set foot again. </p><p>He smiled with his eyes as he walked through the near-empty aisles. He randomly picked up an energy drink and a stale bagel, which he bit into on his way to the counter. The clerk behind it was asleep, face buried in his arms. Eddie cleared his throat. He remained perfectly still, shoulders like stone inside his tacky red uniform. He was like those statue-people, painted silver, waiting on the side of streets for curious people’s loose change. </p><p>“Hey,” Eddie said around his bagel, voice louder than intended and word garbled. </p><p>The man startled, arm taking an instinctive swing at him. But Eddie was too far to even get grazed. Creases on his face, remarkably old, the clerk looked at Eddie with wide eyes.  His nametag introduced him as Marcus. He looked a little lost.</p><p><em>Yeah,</em> Eddie thought, even though they were a weird duo. <em>Me too.</em> </p><p>“What?” the man barked. His wrinkles took odd twists and turns across his face. </p><p>“I, uh.” Eddie cleared his throat, swallowing a bite. He could outtalk the best of them. But this whole station felt a little like a pocket universe. A bubble on the surface, very easily popped but quite real as it was.  “Want to pay? For this stuff?” </p><p>The light was so white it’d taken a green tint. The man’s hands, latched on the edge of the counter, reminded Eddie of spiders. One of them let go, knuckles staying white as he stabbed at the cash register. </p><p>“Two fifty-eight,” he grunted. Eddie handed his three dollars over. Thought about how he could try to sell the car for scraps. Marcus stuffed the bills in, all but threw the change at him, and snapped the register closed. When Eddie didn’t immediately move out of his way, he squinted at him. “There a problem?” </p><p>Eddie finished the bagel. “Many.” </p><p>Marcus squinted harder. “Criminal problems?”</p><p>A corner of Eddie’s mouth lifted at the idea. “Not yet,” he said. “Don’t have enough friends to rob a bank.” </p><p>“Try small grocery stores,” Marcus advised. </p><p>Eddie sputtered out a laugh. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Good idea.” </p><p>He was three steps away from the door when he heard a long-suffering sigh. </p><p>“Hey, kid? A friend of mine’s looking for drivers.” </p><p><em>People are cruel</em>. Maybe not always. </p><p> </p><p>++++</p><p> </p><p>The first time he meets Richie, Eddie’s exhausted. He usually is by the time he stops at a gas station, but that time particularly so. Maturin Gas Station is a rundown, yellow-lighted, dusty place. The owner hasn’t cared about it since the nineties, leaving it once step away from the highway amongst overgrown grass. The uniform the guy Eddie’s age wears is a weird shade of green, and he blinks at it once or twice before he remembers people usually look at each other in the face. </p><p>So he looks up. And it’s -- a nice face. Overbite and coke-bottle glasses and pink lips. </p><p>“Hi,” he croaks out. </p><p>The guy’s grin widens in amusement. He blows a curl away from his eyes and leans over. “Hey. What can I help you with?”</p><p>He’s maybe flirting, Eddie realizes hazily. Good. Probably. He’s too tired to think it over too much. “Pay for stuff? Hopefully?” </p><p>The man’s curls bounce as he nods energetically, turning towards the register, face looking down but smile meant for Eddie. His nametag reads Richard. </p><p>“And coffee?” Eddie garbles out. “I didn’t see any.” </p><p>“Oh yeah, the machine broke two summers ago,” Richard looks at the items Eddie’s holding, and then his eyes flicker up to Eddie’s face. He twists his lips thoughtfully. Eddie tries very, very hard not to stare. “I have a thermos in the breakroom, though? It’s still mostly warm.” </p><p>Eddie nods. “Good for you.” </p><p>He can suddenly see the guffaw Richard’s trying to keep from escaping from his mouth. He thinks, idly, that he’d like to hear it. “I meant, do you want to share?” </p><p>Eddie blinks. “Oh. You don’t have to--”</p><p>Richard waves off his feeble concerns before turning away to throw open the door waiting behind him. Eddie gets a glimpse of another man, hunched over an outdated computer, in the middle of a concerning amount of empty energy drink cans. </p><p>Richard swipes at the desk to steal the thermos. “Taxes!” he declares joyfully, before snapping the door close. </p><p>He presents it to Eddie, victorious. </p><p>Half a smile pulls at his face, and he lets it stretch out. “Impressive,” he says. </p><p>“Life skills,” Richard replies.</p><p>“Stealing from your coworker?”</p><p>“And annoying the shit out of cute customers,” Richard sing-songs. </p><p>“Oh yeah, you’re very good at that,” Eddie agrees, sticking out his hands to take the thermos. Richard gives it to him, entertained. Eddie unscrews the lid and throws back three mouthfuls of lukewarm coffee. </p><p>“My name’s Richie,” he offers. </p><p>“Eddie,” he says back, nearly spitting his drink out. </p><p>“Welcome to MGS,” Richie grins. “Did you know it’s haunted?” </p><p>Eddie rolls his eyes, handing back the thermos before his self-control takes a critical hit and he drinks all of it. “Right.”</p><p>“It is!” Richie insists, but he’s cackling. “Pennywise the Dancing Clown haunts the frozen aisle.” </p><p>“It’s not an aisle, it’s a single freezer.” </p><p>“Demonic real estate, man.”</p><p> </p><p>+++++</p><p> </p><p>Ben is a friend Eddie wasn’t expecting to make. They’re two strangers on the side of the road, the hood of Ben’s truck open, its engine fuming. It takes them all of ten minutes before the both of them admit they don’t know anything about cars, and then they’re both sitting on cold asphalt as the rising sun stains the great big sky a light yellow. </p><p>Eddie meant to take a break anyway. It’s what he tells Ben when he mentions Eddie’s own truck parked behind his. It’s not exactly true, but Ben’s nice. And, well. He’s been extremely bored for about fifteen miles now. He’d called the gas station, but Richie hadn’t been working. Bill had been apologetic, but not enough not to pry. “So you and Rich--”, he’d begun. Eddie had hung up, laughing to himself. </p><p>“You’ve been driving long?” Ben asks, propped on his elbows. A motorbike roars past. They’re waiting for a tow truck. </p><p>“Seven years,” Eddie answers. He breathes in the cold morning air, closes his eyes. “You?”</p><p>“I started this January. Dropped out of college.” </p><p>Eddie opens up an eye to look at Ben, curious. “What were you studying?” </p><p>“Architecture,” Ben explains. “I like buildings.”</p><p>“That’s nice.”</p><p>“Hate maths with a burning passion, though.” </p><p>“That <em>would</em> make an architecture major run for the hills.” </p><p>Ben smiles, self-conscious. He looks like he made about as many friends as Eddie has, in his life. He looks like it bothers him more. “It did.” </p><p>Eddie knocks their shoulders together. “Weirdest thing to happen to you on the road?” </p><p>“A lady tried to sell me her pet alligator, once.” </p><p>“<em>What?</em>” </p><p> </p><p>+++++</p><p> </p><p>“He <em>eats</em> kids?” </p><p>“Yeah!”</p><p>“Why would -- dude, that’s so gross!”</p><p>They’re both leaning over the counter, thermos opened for so long their coffee’s gone cold. Eddie has an urge to prop himself on his toes and bump his forehead against Richie’s. He thinks about it as he watches Richie struggle to keep his laughter in. </p><p>“It is!”</p><p>“Why would you make something like that up?”</p><p>“I didn’t make anything up! It’s the truth!” </p><p>Eddie squints at him, and jerks his head to motion to the tiny plastic turtle Bill stuck to the top of the dingy microwave on the side of the counter. “And that’ll help you ward off a cannibal clown?” </p><p>“<em>The turtle can help us</em>,” Richie recites, solemn. Bill had come up with it, once, after jumping awake from a drunken sleep. He’d then proceeded to puke his guts out. Eddie hadn’t been there to see it, but he’d been on speakerphone with Richie when it’d happen and he’d heard plenty. It was a blessing, really, that the gas station’s only customers seem to be Eddie and Stan. If other people came around MGS, Eddie is fairly certain neither Richie nor Bill would have a job anymore. </p><p>Stan was an intern at an accounting firm. He was ready to quit for several reasons, he’d informed Eddie over a bag of crisps. One, he started counting down on his fingers. It’s time to dismantle capitalism from the inside. Two, his bosses are incompetent, patronizing shitheads. Three, his girlfriend Patty currently lives six hours away from him. </p><p>“<em>Fuck the concept of distance</em>,” he’d hissed. </p><p>Eddie thought of his mother on the other side of the country, and how some days it still felt like she was breathing down his neck. “It’s fucked up,” he’d agreed. </p><p>Stan had pointed at him like he’d said something particularly brilliant. </p><p> </p><p>+++</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Bill has a boyfriend</em>,” Richie declares one night over the phone. His voice reverberates around the truck's cabin, particularly smug. Eddie smiles at the road ahead. </p><p>“How’d he swing that?” </p><p>“<em>By being my charming self!</em>” Bill interjects in the background. </p><p>“How drunk was the other guy?” Eddie asks, just to hear Bill makes an offended noise. Richie cackles. </p><p>“<em>Eddie, you can’t see me but I am leaving! I’m ignoring you! I’m going back to writing!</em>” </p><p>“<em>Fuck writing!</em>” intervenes a new voice. Her words slurs a little. “<em>Words are sins.</em>” </p><p>“<em>Oh, and you’re a good christian girl, is that it?</em>” Bill says. </p><p>“<em>Every day I pray!</em>” </p><p>Muffled giggles.  “<em>For what?</em>” </p><p>“<em>My essay to have written itself during the night. It’s been four months and I’m losing faith.</em>” </p><p>“<em>Bev!</em>” Richie calls. “<em>Say hi to Eddie.</em>” </p><p>“<em>Hello, Eddie!</em>” Bev croons. “<em>Come back quick before my patience for Richie’s mopiness runs out!</em>” </p><p>Richie swears viciously.  </p><p>Eddie’s startled into a laugh. The audio quality changes. “How bad are we talking?” </p><p>“<em>You’re off speakerphone</em>,” Richie informs him grandly. </p><p>“<em>Boo, you whore!</em>” Bev screams in the background. </p><p>Eddie’s grin stays firmly on his face. “I know. I’m asking you.” 	</p><p>“<em>...Well. You know I don’t like annoying anyone quite as much as I like annoying you.</em>” </p><p>Eddie drums his fingers against the wheel, smile turning into something softer. “Yeah. I miss you too, Richie.”</p><p>There’s a beat. The road stretches forever ahead of Eddie. </p><p>“<em>What did you do to him?</em>” Bev asks, still screaming to be heard. “<em>His face is doing a thing!</em>” </p><p> </p><p>++++</p><p> </p><p>Bookclub with Ben is a thing that makes Eddie care about books more than he usually does. Mostly because Ben has interesting new takes on whatever it is they’re reading, but also because he likes to rant, and this is a prime opportunity. </p><p>“Fuck Jonathan!” Eddie explodes. Ben’s met him at the Maturin Gas Station for the first time, and Eddie’s sitting on top of the freezer to prove a point to Richie. He waves his battered copy around as he speaks. “Anika and Jane should clearly have run away together and gotten married and a little drunk! It’s what they deserve!”</p><p>“Jonathan didn’t have much personality,” Ben says, “but we’ve only seen Anika appear in the book for maybe three pages?” </p><p>“Those girls are gay for each other, Ben! They’re in love!” </p><p>Ben looks ready to burst out laughing at any moment. “We don’t know who Anik--”</p><p>“<em>Gay love, Ben!</em>” </p><p>There he goes. The laughter spills out of him, his body shaking with gasps as he tries to breathe through it. Eddie raises his face to see Bev, both eyebrows raised. Eddie tilts his head in a wordless question. She grins back sunnily. </p><p>“Your ass bitten off by a child-eating demon yet, Eds?” Richie calls, peeking out from the breakroom. </p><p>“No!” Eddie yells back. Before he can add, <em>‘Because there is no cannibal clown in the freezer, you asshole!’</em>, Richie makes a relieved sound.</p><p>“Thank God! I like that ass!” </p><p>Eddie sputters, feeling the blush mount all the way to his ears. </p><p>Ben looks at Eddie with a surprised, teasing smile. Eddie points at him. “No!” </p><p>“Gay love, Eddie!”</p><p>“Fuck <em>off!</em>” </p><p> </p><p>++++</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Hi? Richie said to call? He would do it himself but he’s fighting with the slushie machine.</em>” </p><p>“Tell him to give it a really good kick.” </p><p>“<em>He says to give it a good kick!</em>” </p><p>A muffled sound, less muffled swearing. “<em>Eds! Betrayal!</em>” </p><p>Eddie laughs. He’s at another gas station, which feels like cheating somehow, even if he’s a state away. He’s laying across a picnic table and getting looks from the two or three people who bothered to linger outside. “Hey,” he asks the man on the phone, “are you Mike?”</p><p>“<em>I--yes? Do I have a reputation?</em>” </p><p>“If you hurt Bill, I’ll hurt you,” Eddie explains. </p><p>“<em>Noted.</em>”</p><p>“Also! You’ve got sheep?” </p><p>“<em>At the farm, yeah!</em>”</p><p>“I need you to tell me all of their names so that I can cherish them from a distance.”</p><p>++++</p><p>Eddie bursts through the door to get away from the cold, but it’s not much better inside. Richie, behind the counter, is wearing a blanket like a cape. </p><p>“Eds!” Richie tries to smile, but his teeth start to chatter. Bev, Bill, and Stan are sitting on the floor, all wearing thick coats, having visibly resorted to the strongest alcohol they could find to warm up. It’s not very strong, some of this bad beer that’s ridiculously expensive and mostly water, but they’re chugging it down like they’re hoping to get drunk by sheer will. Mike looks somehow perfectly at ease with a light jacket, watching them on with amusement. </p><p>“Hey, Rich,” Eddie greets as he strides towards them all and away from the doors. His voice gets past of his lips warmer than he intended. “Did you really think today was the day to be stingy with the heating?” </p><p>Richie huffs and opens an arm to invite Eddie under the blanket with him. </p><p>“It broke,” he explains. </p><p><em>Gay</em>, his mind informs him as he slides under Richie’s arm, forehead knocking against his jaw. <em>Do not smell him</em>, Eddie orders himself. <em>Do not.</em>  “Is Ben there yet?” </p><p>“Called him earlier,” Richie says. His voice rumbles in his chest and against Eddie’s side. “He’s driving real slow because of the ice, but he should--”</p><p>“Mother nature hates me!” Ben exclaims, slipping past the doors and making a bee-line for the radiators. When he finds them cold, he makes a pained sound. “Life hates me!” </p><p>“Come warm us up, Haystack!” Bev calls and Ben flushes a deep red but makes his way towards the group nonetheless. He gives Eddie a wide-eyed look as he passes by, and he laughs quietly against Richie’s shoulder. </p><p>“She’s gonna kill him,” he whispers. </p><p>“Go Bev,” Richie whispers back, muffling it into Eddie’s hair. </p><p><em>Oh</em>, Eddie realizes. <em>He’s</em> going to kill <em>me</em>. Being touch-starved is a dangerous thing. One of these days, possibly right now, he’s just going to kiss the everloving fuck out of Richie because <em>hey, you have a body</em>. Also, maybe, he’s going to kiss him because <em>hey, you’re Richie and I’m Eddie.</em> </p><p>The snow outside doubles in intensity. </p><p>“This is the clown’s fault!” Stan declares, tipsy. </p><p>Bill, well on his way to smashed, points at him around the beer he’s holding. “<em>Yes</em>. Pennyfuck.”</p><p>Bev catches Eddie’s eye from the circle of Ben’s arm and gives him a less-than-discreet thumbs up. He shakes his head at her, but he’s grinning. </p><p>“You hear that, Eds? Demon clown’s fault.” </p><p>“More like shitty building upkeep.” </p><p>Eddie twists a little to wrap an arm around Richie’s middle. </p><p>“Someone get me the turtle!” Stan demands. </p><p>“I superglued it to the microwave,” Bill says, apologetically. </p><p>“<em>Superglued?</em>” </p><p>“It had to withstand paranormal attacks!”</p><p>“Someone get me the microwave!”</p><p>The wind howls against the windows like it’s scrambling to get inside. The lights go off. There’s a few seconds of silence in the dark.</p><p>“Hey Bill,” Bev wonders, “did you save what you wrote earlier?” </p><p>Bill makes a terrible, anguished sound. </p><p>“Bill?” Mike asks gently. </p><p>“I don’t <em>know</em>.”</p><p>“Clown’s fault,” Stan says again. </p><p>“Don’t call Bill that,” Ben replies. </p><p>Bev laughs and laughs and laughs. </p><p> </p><p>In the morning they’ll open the doors and the snow will spill inside. But as it is, friends asleep in the dark, sitting in each others’ arms on the freezing ground, Eddie's perfectly content. </p><p>“Hey, Richie?” </p><p>“What?” he whispers. </p><p>“I’m going to kiss you now.” </p><p>“...Okay.”</p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>Still whispering, Richie explains, “Trying not to scream 'Jackpot'.”</p><p>Eddie snorts. “That’s gay.”</p><p>“Tell me about<em>--mmph!</em>”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>is this bad? maybe. is the first fic i've finished? yes! so all in all this is a win. </p><p>find me @bravertozier on twitter.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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